Moth
by lilmisuzu
Summary: Like moths to a flame, they find themselves drawn to her. After Hermione wakes up from a DarkCurse induced coma, she finds herself in a very peculiar situation. Everyone seems to love her, and she finds out that isn't always a bad things. Hermione?
1. The Curse is lifted

I write stories. Sometimes. I almost never update ever. Because I write when I want to. Okay. That's it. This is a type of fiction where Hermione is very well liked and loved, because I adore her. If you don't like that sort of thing, be off. I hate seeing the other characters with anyone else. .

When she opened her eyes, she realised one thing immediately. That one thing being, of course, was that she was in a lot of pain. No doubt in her mind. Her whole body ached as if she just ran across the entire British Isles and back in a single day. (Which, by the way, she knew was physically impossible and why would she run anywhere when she could perfectly well apparate?)

After realising she was in pain, she realised that she felt, in an odd way, very refreshed. And then after that, she realised she was in a room she had never been in before. Or that's what it looked like to her. Well, it looked somewhat familiar. Like when you've had a dream and wake up and realise you've had that dream before, sort of familiar. The room was simple, small, and very crowded with a lot of furniture. A small window at the end of the room, which was about eight feet from the bed she was laying on, let in a small bit of sunlight. Which, according to her, meant that it was very early or very late.

The mattress beneath her was sort of lumpy but comfortable. But also, she noticed, it had taken shape to her form. Like as if she had been laying there for a week. Which brought her to another realisation- she didn't remember falling asleep. In fact, she remembered very little if anything in regards as to her where abouts and where she had been. After scanning the small room, (why did it seem so familiar and foreign?), she looked down at her hands. If, indeed, these were her hands. She didn't remembered her hands ever looking so pale and small and weird before. She turned her hand and looked at her palms, then back, and set them on the sheet. These sheets also seemed somewhat familiar. The design...

She furrowed her brow, and would've thought harder if a crash from the doorway hadn't interrupted her thoughts.

"Blimey." She looked up. In the doorway stood someone she felt she ought to know. He blushed furiously, and looked down at what he dropped. Tea and porcelien now littered the floor. "Oi, sorry about that Hermione.. It's just that.. Bloody hell, you're awake."

She quirked an eyebrow and replied, (and realised that her throat was rather dry as well), "I didn't realise someone waking up was a shocking event..er.. Sorry, who are you? And how do you know who I am? And, pray tell, where am I?"

"You don't recognise me." It was definitely more of statement than a question, asked the man in the doorway, sounding crestfallen. He sighed, "You've only been out for about two years; Blimey, hadn't realised I changed so much! Sorry. Ah.. where to star-"

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold the phone," she interrupted in a raspy, rushed voice, "I've been "out for about to years"? What the bloody hell are you playing at?"

"Check the mirror, love," He said pointing at a small hand mirror on an end table next to her bed. She turned, hurridly, and picked it up. And gasped.

She certainly knew it was her, but the way she looked. She looked tired, pale, and yet somewhat eloquent. Certainly not the bushy-haired girl she remembered herself as. Her hair and softened, it seemed (probably magic), into soft ringlets that still massed together. Her face looked, well, to her, it looked lovely. Her eyes were still the wide, brown doe eyes she had before she was "out". She looked older, more mature. "Is this really me? What sort of trickery magic is this?"

"That's you, pet." The stranger replied, taking a seat on a wicker chair she had not bothered to notice before. "Can I speak now, or have you got more questions buzzing in that big head of yours?"

"My head is not-" She huffed, glaring at him.

"I was kidding." He laughed, jovially. It was so familiar. She simply said, "I know you."

"That you do. Hi," he started, "my name is George Weasley. You were best mates with my brother, Ronald, the prat."

"Ron..." She stared off, trying to register the name, only having blue eyes to dance in her mind's eye. "He has blue eyes..."

"Yea, the git." George, or so he claimed, nodded and continued, "So, ye, you're best friends with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and more recently Defeated-The-Dark-Lord, and my brother. So about tw- Oh, blimey. I should probably go tell everyone you're awake. Uh, wait here."

"Wai-" She started again, but he made a mad dash. The only thing she could hear was his footsteps echoing away from where she lay and then a distinct "OI!", and then lots of footsteps heading her way. She felt nervous. The patter of footsteps became louder, and louder, and then, in the doorway was very many faces.

"OH! Hermione!"

"Herms!"

"I can't believe it-"

"Bless Merlin." And other such things were said as arms were thrown around her. And she didn't recognize most of them. All but one. She knew _it_. She knew_ him_.

"You're Ron." She said simply, much to the confusion of everyone else bustling around her excitedly. They all stopped and turned to her. Ron blushed and laughed,

"Of course I'm Ron," He smiled, "who else would I be?"

"Oh, I left out a minor detail. Uh.." George laughed nervously, "The poor kid's lost her memory."

"Oh, the poor dear!"

"That's common with those dark curses!"

"It could've been worse."

"Oh yes," and other murmers of shock and agreement were passed about. One woman, somewhat large and friendly with flaming red hair, turned to her and said, "Oh, poor dear! Hermione, whom of us do you recognize?"

"Just Ron." With that, Ron puffed out his chest and grinned. A boy standing next to him, with dark hair and shining green eyes, rolled his eyes and sighed, pushing his thick glasses up off the bridge of his nose. She stared at him. He, too, seemed oh-so-familiar.

"Suppose we ought to explain it all."

And so they did.

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"About two years ago, the Dark Lord was at the second peek of his power. It was dark times, but when isn't it when a raving murderous lunatic is trying to purge the world of those he deems unworthy?

Harry Potter, bless him, and his best friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, were on this mission. (That'd be you lot right before my very eyes). See, the year before their mission, the great Albus Dumbledore was murdered by Severus Snape. ("Traitor!" "Slimey Git!" "Shut up and let mum speak!") But before he was murdered, Albus told Harry Potter of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes. ("Powerful dark magic.." "Yes, I know.") Hocruxes that had You-Know-Who's soul trapped in. Seven, in fact. ("Seven is a powerful number." "Do you ever shut up?" "Sorry!") Albus had taken out one the summer before he was murdered. Another one was destroyed in your second year, Hermione. A locket was destroyed by, ("Molly, she needs a quick summary, not the whole bloody thing-") Alright! So anyway, you three were on your way to destroying them all.

It was because of your cunning, Hermione, that Harry was able to find them all. ("She really is the smartest witch of our time! OW!" "That's what ya get, now pipe down!" "A simple be quiet would do-" "SHUT UP RON") Destroying them, kinda easy. You lot were off on your own. No idea where ya were. Doing your own thing, saving the world- I was so worried about you lot. Especially Ron, he doesn't do that well far from home ("Mum!"). Right, sorry dear. Didn't mean to embarass you.

So you lot find the last Horcrux, I believe it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's snake, Na..g..Naggy, or something like that. ("Naginia, Molly.") Right, Nagini. Sorry, dear, my memory isn't what it used to be. ("It's okay, Mrs. Weasley.") But you guys found it at the final battle. The last battle. The epic battle.

Right, on the battlefield. Oh, we were all there. We all remember.. Lost my youngest.. Lost my Ginny. Oh, it was a dark day two years ago. Death lurked all around. The sky, lit up like the muggle Fourth of July in the colonies. Curses hurdled back in forth. Hours, it lasted. Hours and the dead piled up on both sides. Madness curses, dark curses. But Harry did it, bless him. Destroyed V-Voldemort for good.

And at the end, no one could find ya, Hermione. Looked high. Looked low. And then, out of the mist, your body silently floated to us. And you looked so odd. And we could hear you. Screaming, panting. Mighty dark curses He-Who-Musn't-Be-Named placed on you before you died. I remember the look in your eyes. Halfway between madness and death you were. And the sounds coming out of your mouth made my blood curl.

We got you to St.Mungo's as fast as possible. Nothing they could do.. eventually, your screams died down. They healed ye as best as they could, and you just. Well, you just went into a coma, you did. And with your parents gone, we took you into our home. Been takin' good care of you. And, well, and that's it." And then Molly Weasley broke into tears, and had to be escorted away.

"How was I just floating towards you all?" She asked, after a very, very long time. Everyone glanced at each other nervously. Then, Fred replied,

"No one knows. You were. Like someone placed a locomotor charm on you. You came out of the mist, like a floating corpse. Except for the fact you were screaming."

"And..Ginny.." She could see everyone visibly stiffen. She saw Harry, or whom she presumed to be Harry, cast a look down, tears in his eyes. "I see."

"Right. Well, it's getting late." Arthur Weasley dictated, pushing red heads out of the room. One of the twins casted a look over his shoulder at her before being shoved into a narrow hallway.

"Do you mind, Mr.Weasley, if Ron and I..?" Harry asked, in a hushed voice. Arthur looked at Harry with a good, long, serious look. Then he sighed, and closed the door.

"Of course, of course."

Hermione was looking down at her hands when she felt someone sit on her bed. She looked up into blue eyes, into green eyes. Softly, almost inaudibly, she said, "Hullo."

"How are you?" Ron asked, looking slightly uncomfortable. She sighed, and shook her head, massive curls bouncing. She casted her eyes towards her hands and said,

"I don't know." An awkward silence suddenly filled the room. To her suprise, she felt strong arms around her. Then another pair, carefully holding her, as if she would break if they held any tighter.

"We thought you would die-" Harry murmered, tears still fresh in his eyes. She felt Ron nod against her bare shoulder. Hermione didn't know what to think. She should know them! They felt so familiar. She should of remembered.. What dark curses had she been under? What dark magic has coursed through her while she was unaware?

"We're so glad you're back, Hermione." Ron muttered, awkwardly. She, without her even realising it, put an arm around each of them, (trying to be as comfortable as possible). "I know you don't really remember us, but trust us, we'll do everything to get your memory back. Swear to Merlin. Or, or, I'll try Fred and George's next experimental candy. Well, after we've tried. Not before. Because I know they're into some really sick-"

"Point is," Harry coughed, interrupting the red head, "we'll get you to remember. Even if it takes a lifetime."

"Thank you.." She found herself saying. She was lucky, she knew. They must of really loved her, to be promising her lifetimes. If only she knew another person had already given her her life back...

---------------------------------------------

He felt cold, and sweaty. Not uncommon to some, but to him, it was disgusting him. He hated feeling. He hated love, he hated hate, he hated it all. He hated guilt and last moments of chivalry, as if that would redeem him. What was he doing? What had he done? How can he go on? How can he forget?

He found himself tossing and turning in his sheets of silk and velvet, in his king size mahogony bed. He found himself awake constantly, unable to sleep because of nightmares and voices, because of regret and damn brown eyes. Damn blue, twinkling eyes and damn brown doe eyes. He wanted to turn then, he wanted to plead to Dumbledore, 'please give me a good life, please save my family.'

_If only he hadn't be so stubborn_. If he hadn't been his fathers son. If only, if only, if only. If only he had asked sooner, sought out redemption before it was out of his grasp. And yet, even after the defeat of Voldemort, he found himself not in Azkaban, as he thought he would be with his father, but in his own bed, in his own wing of his own house. And he felt like he should be punished. He felt like he got off to damn easily, and he couldn't find a way to turn himself in.

Because, deep down, he was scared. He was scared of Dementors, of madness..

Of madness. That's what she suffered, and she hadn't done anything wrong. And it was partly his fault. But he did all he could, didn't he? He healed the darkest of her wounds, used the oldest of magic, and rid her of the demon that was clinging to her heart. Out there, among the blood and the death, he had seen her.

And he smirked, until he really saw her. In pain, looking pathetic, covered in blood, and sweat, and mud. 'Perfect for a Mudblood,' he had thought. But, as he turned his back on her, in the dark, in the cold, in the mist that was thicker than thick, he found he couldn't lift his feet. 'Stupid Mudblood..'

As he laid there, reflecting on that night he healed Hermione Granger in her darkest hour, he felt the edges of his mouth twitch. Not in a smile, but in a frown. Why hadn't he seen her to the end? Made sure to wherever he sent her too, someone found her? If he was going Knight, why not finish the job?

Because, he stood on the battlefield, in a mask of a skull, with a dark tattoo burned into his forearm. He remembered his dark cloak being covered in her blood as she spat it out of her little Mudblood mouth. He held her and muttered anti-charms and realised, he had seen this dark magic only once before. And the only way to get rid of it, was to in fact, take it on to yourself. And he had. He had done this for her, and he didn't know why.

He just knew. He knew she was good and pure, and everything he envied. And that his heart had been destroyed long ago, so that this magic would be useless on him. And then he sent her off.

Draco Lucius Malfoy had done good. And he wanted to cry because of it.

"Are you okay.." He asked his ceiling softly, laying on his back, covered in sweat, moonlight lighting the dark room only slightly, "Did they take good care of you? Are you awake? Did you know it was me? Do you hate me? I sure do.."

He frowned, and furrowed his brow, turned on his side, and squeezed his eyes shut. 'Just make it all go away,' he screamed mentally, 'Please, I beg of you. Someone, anyone, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I truly, deeply am.'

He opened his eyes and it was daylight. He frowned again, rolled out of bed and sighed. He didn't even realise he fell asleep. And so he stood, he sauntered (as Malfoys do) into his private bathroom and shut the door. And he vomited, cleaned himself up, took a cold, five minute shower, dressed, and headed to the Dining Hall. And so his day went on. As he sat down, ordering his usualy breakfast from an old-looking house elf, a clear, cool voice called out,

"Still heading to Diagon Alley this weekend, darling?" His mother appeared at the end of the hall, dressed in pale amber silk dress robes, looking esquisite, but very tired. He nodded curtly. She took a seat, and sighed, "Draco."

"Yes, Mother?" Draco asked, not bothering to look at her and now eating his eggs, chewing slowly and somehow regally.

"You've been mooning. Is something the matter, pet?" She inquired, picking up a newspaper and reading it. Ever since Lucius had died, Draco felt that his mother becoming cold and distant with everyone, except him, of course. When Lucius was alive, Narcissa Malfoy threw grand, glorious balls, where she would dress in fancy silk dress robes, invite over everyone she knew, and made chitchat. When she laughed, it sounded like tinkling, like money. And she would float about, smiling, showing off perfect white teeth behind full, red lips. Draco used to hate those balls, but somehow, now that they never happened, he missed them. Like he missed his father's great lectures on how to perfect the world. A world of 'Pure Magic', he described. Ideally, it was like Communism. But reality had already shown us how that turns out.

"Draco, my boy, my son," Lucius would say, "When the world is Pure Magic, we could do magic in front of Muggles and they would see us as superior, and we'd be able to do what we like, when we like. Wouldn't that be smashing?"

And, to Draco, that really did sound like a brilliant idea. And as much, at times, that he hated and resented his father, he did miss him. If only even a little bit.

He sighed, and pushed his food around on his plate, when his mother asked, rather abruptly, "It's not a girl is it?"

And just then, Draco went as red as a Weasley and sputtered out he had other things to attend to, and that he loved her, and would see her later.

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George Weasley felt privilaged. He was the first one to see her awake, and with that, he knew he could pick at Ickle Ronnikans' ego. The red headed twin smirked, and placed his hands behind his head, crossed his legs and lounged on his bed. He felt satisifed. But, at the same time, he thought of Ginny. He tried, and tried, and tried harder to not think of his bratty little sister. How she died.. died valiantly, too. He frowned, and shook his head. It did not to well to dwell on depressing matters.

"Oh brother of mine," a voice, much like his and not at all like his, called. He turned his eyes to his twin brother, Fred as he held out his hand. "If you would kindly join me in some mischief.."

"What have you got in mind?" George asked, taking Fred's hand as he hoisted himself up. Fred grinned, as Fred does, in an evil sort of sense and said very quickly,

"I think it's high time we lighten everyone's mood with a "Glad you're up Hermione" type of shindig. You game?" Fred asked, his blue eyes twinkling. George smirked yet again and replied,

"You know I'm always savvy." In reality, the only way to tell George and Fred apart is if you look at both of their right eyes. Fred's right eye has specks of green mixed in with blue, while George had flecks of gray. Other than that, there isn't a way to tell them apart. If they were to wear sunglasses, we'd all be screwed. "So, what's cookin' good lookin'?"

"Here's how it will go down..."

And ten minutes later, and after much rejoicing, the plan perfected, George and Fred high-fived each other, shook each other's hand, and nodded to themselves. Then they patted each other on the back and said, "Good show, mate" and "Yes, a very good show indeed", they headed down to lunch.

And how lunch was an affair. Apparently the twin's plan went something along these lines;

Mrs. Weasley had been cooking all day for a perfect picnic lunch, had set up a glorious picnic-themed lunch in the backyard, where Hermione was currently sitting in between Harry and Ron, eating sandwiches. Fred and George had the idea, that since Hermione was wearing a sundress and would be standing up at any minute, it would be a good idea for a "gust" of wind to blow said sundress up, Marilyn-Monroe-Seven-Year-Itch style, then set off fireworks that would startle everyone and watch them run into each other, embarassed and flushed. And, just for good measure, tie Hermione to Ron and Harry by their ankles, so when they tried to run off, watch them fall down on top of one another. Maybe if Ron or Harry where lucky, they'd get a "feelsy" (as Fred put it). Yes, that would certainly lighten everyone's moods, and any chance to see a girl's knickers, even if it was Hermione, is good according to Fred.

In the end, after much embarassment, cold glares, huffing, food everywhere, Fred and George found themselves organizing the Weasley Attic of Useless Junk without wands, in alphabetical order. Thinking that they were too old to be punished, and after trying to sneak off, they then found themselves having to clean all bathrooms in the Weasley household.

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea," commented Fred as he found one of Aunt Maude's old Gnome-Throwing trophies and proceeded to dust it off. "Last time we come for lunch, eh bro?"

"Yea.." George agreed, in deep thought. He reflected on the way Hermione looked when she first set her eyes on him, startled, puzzled, and beautiful. He also thought of the glee in Ron's eyes when he announced she awoke. But then, there was also the sour look, well the one he thought he saw, in Harry's eyes. But why would Harry be sour that Hermione awoke.. unless..

"Yo, bro, look what I found," Fred interrupted his train of thought, waving a photo album about with "OUR WEDDING/BABY PICTURES" slapped across the cover in large, gold letters. "Bet we can use this later to our advantage."

George grinned, "Genius. Really brilliant."

He went back to his box, his thoughts back on Hermione, oh and of Ron and Harry as well. And, for as much as he knew he should be feeling like it, he didn't feel guilty for thinking of the pretty, memory-lost, brunette. He was a warm-blooded male, after all. And after his relationship with Katie Bell ended, girls didn't really hold his attention very long. They all just laughed at his jokes, and deep down, that disturbed him. Who was he? Just some half of a troublesome duo, the good-looking twin prankster, who could only come up with practical jokes and cheap parlour tricks? He shook his head, barely listening to Fred babble on about one thing or another.

As much as he loved his twin, and loved being a twin, he often wondered if that he was something more. Was that all anyone saw him as? He frowned, and sighed, causing dust to irritate his nose. He sneezed.

"Bless you," came a girls voice. Startled, George and Fred simultaneously dropped whatever they were holding. "Oh, goodness! I didn't mean to startle you. I just came up to tell you, your mum said you could come down for dinner if you promise to behave. 'Which they probably won't', she added."

"Oi, thanks Hermy," Fred called, gleeful to get off punishment. "Hadn't realised it was that late. What'd she cook? I'm starved."

She laughed, a soft laugh that caused both twins to smile and feel their hearts beat faster, "Oh, just some steak and potatos. Go get cleaned up, and I'll tell her you're coming down."

"Thanks..."

"And, by the way, if you ever try one of your pranks on me, that involves showing my knickers to the entire world, I'll hex you into oblivion, " Hermione smiled sweetly, and shut the door.

"Foxy, fiery little thing, isn't she?" Fred laughed. George only nodded dumbly. Feiry, and foxy indeed.


	2. Reflections

"Mrs. Weasley," she began, slowly, in between bites of toast, "How come I can remember who I am, where I'm from, and little bits here and there? How is that only, how do I say this, chunks of my life are blanks to me?"

"Magic isn't perfect," said the older witch, "and most obliviate and memory charms can be undone. But with dark curses, things get tricky. Very tricky. Like if You-Know-Who had wanted to block out specific things, he'd have to concentrate. But who could concentrate on such mighty harmful magic when he's got curses flying at him? And most memory charms have loopholes and things of that effect. There's usually a way around memory loss, even from dark curses."

"Oh. Well, I suppose that makes sense," she contemplated. It seemed kinda true, the more time she spent with Harry and Ron the more little details she remembered. She didn't know when she realised some of these things, but she knew that they had happened, and happened to her. Little things, of course. Like when she became something important and Ron was there with her, and they were laughing. But Harry was left out, but she remembered looking into his dissapointed green eyes and wanting to kiss away his worries, like a mother.

She remembered Harry had something awful happen to him even before they met, and that awful thing happened occassionally. But what, she didn't know. She remembered Harry being a blur, high in the sky, with the sun in her eyes and cheers around her. But what, but what, but what? Ron and her arguing, him kissing someone and her jealousy, Harry and a red headed girl (possibly this is Ginny, Hermione mused) in a slow tender kiss, surrounded by people she knew. She really did. But when?

"Oi, Hermione," Ron interrupted her thoughts. She looked up, startled, as he continued, "Need to head to Diagon Alley today, it being a weekend and all- want to come?"

"Dia- what?.." Hermioned furrowed her brow, in deep concentration. Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley. Harry's voice repeated into her head and suddenly there was dust and grates and coughing, and dirt. And then there was shops, small, quaint shops among cobblestone streets. Magical stalls selling knick knacks and rip offs. "Oh. Small shopping district, right?"

"Good girl!" Ron replied, enthusiastically, cheering her on like a child who just learned all of her a-b-c's. He scooped her up from her seat and twirled her around. She laughed, light-heartedly at his childish behavior, and he proceeded to carry her upstairs.

"Wait! I haven't finished my breakfast- or, or cleaned up!" She proclaimed, and then she heard Mrs. Weasley's voice calling from behind,

"Don't worry, pet! I'll make Ron do double his chores later!" And she laughed. She felt horrible that Ron had to do extra chores on her account, but he was the prat carrying her up the stairs. She heard Ron mutter a curse underneath his breath, then turn to her and sent her a grin.

"Harry'n'me aren't even ready yet, so take your time. Wait," he slowly said, as an afterthought, "don't take your time. You'll be in there ages. I know how you females are."

"Ron!" Hermione chided, wagging her finger in a playful manner. He set her down in front of the room, Bill's old one, she got to occupy as her own and bid her farewell.

"I better see you in the living room, dressed and such in half an hour!" Ron called over his shoulder as he climbed up more stairs towards his room. She smiled and wondered how they were all going to take showers and not mess up the hot water system. Oh, right, magic.

As she clamored into an old tub in the bathroom across the hall ten minutes later, Hermione reflected other things she remembered. She also wondered how that a bunch of twenty year olds were living off the income of two older members of the wizarding community who had already done their duty to society. She frowned, took a deep breath, and stuck her head underwater.

-----

"Alright, dears, have you got everything you need? Yes? Money in your pockets," Then she glanced at Hermione and laughed, then continued, "Dear what am I going to do with your hair? It's quite beautiful when it looks managable; it's a shame. Oh well, never you mind, get going. Port key is going to be activated in five minutes. Behave yourselves, I don't want any aurors escorting you lot home. And Ronald, don't come home with anything you really don't need."

And with that, Mrs. Weasley walked out of the living room and back into her knitting room, humming softly to herself. According to Hermione, they all seemed a bit off. Then she remembered why; Ginny was gone. Hermione looked at Harry, at was suprised to find him looking back at her with the same expression. Faintly, she heard Ron saying,

"Nutters.." and then "What do we need money for when everyones practically shoving their stuff into our pockets-"

"Wait," Hermione snapped out of her trance, "What did you say?"

"Hermione, for being so bright, you sure sometimes are a bit of a dunderhead- I said-"

But she never did hear what he said. Inside, she knew that this was perfectly normal, but how could feeling like you were being sucked in by your belly button ever feel normal? And then she was screaming, and so was Ron and Harry. And there was whizzing, and the three of them landed, not so gracefully, onto each other in front of a somewhat crowded street. Hermione groaned and tried disentangling herself from the boys, "No no, move your foot, at a boy!"

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here." The three looked up in suprised, ceasing all action. Upon recognition of the owner of the voice, Harry let out an audible growl and Ron glared. Before Hermione stood a very handsome man, who made her insides squirm. And not with love, but with a hate. 'But why,' she thought. She furrowed her brow and studied him, for anything that would pop out at her.

He was tall, not as tall as Ron and maybe a bit taller than Harry, with platinum white-blonde hair that hung loosley over his storm-grayblue eyes. He had a defined nose and chin, like an aristocrat in the movies. He wore simple billowing capes of black with a green accent, and initials embroided in gold; D.L.M.

As she studied him, she had realised Ron and Harry had already stood up and was tugging her up as well. She fumbled out an apology, "Sorry, sorry, I'm okay."

"Hah, looks like the little m-" He cut himself off, looked about, leaned in and whispered,"Mudblood finally learns her place."

"Sorry, a what?" Hermione asked, staring at him confused. Well, that certainly caught him offguard. Shock registered on his face, then a knowing expression, like he could use this to his advantage, and Hermione did not like this at all.

"Malfoy. Can we ever go to Diagon Alley without running into your ferret face," Ron snorted, pulling Hermione out of his sight. But why? Who's Malfoy? She peeked over Ron's broad shoulder and heard Malfoy tut out a reply. And then she felt Harry grab her elbow, and saw him grab Ron's collar and started to steer them away from the character known as Malfoy.

"No point. Hasn't anyone to back him up, just needs someone to feed his ego," Harry said, rather loudly, "Scum like him should've wound up in Azkaban or dead like his father."

"What. Did. You. Say. Potter." Malfoy looked absolutely livid, his nostrils flaring and his eyes flashing. He looked dangerous, and Hermione wondered why Harry would provoke him like that. There were, after all, three of them and only one of him. She grabbed his sleeve and hissed,

"Please, Harry, I don't know who he is, but obviously he isn't worth getting worked up over." He looked into her pleading brown eyes, and softened.

"You're right, no point in even trying to talk to the ferret. Right, off we-" but Hermione made an 'o' face when she saw two bodies hit the pavement with a "thud". "GET OFF ME MALFOY!"

"Look!" a voice cried from somewhere across the street, "Malfoy attacked Mister Potter!"

Shouts, commotion, and suddenly Malfoy was ripped off of Harry. Several shopkeepers were holding him back, and saying this "youth, these days" and "no appreciation for what he's done for the community!", and "jealousy, I'd expect" and other such things that common background people say.

"You don't know a damn thing about me. None of you do." Malfoy snarled, pulling himself from the grasp of the shopkeepers. He glanced at Hermione, who looked puzzled, and, well, beautiful. "Get off of me, I can see my way out."

And with a pop, he was gone. Suddenly, Hermione found all three of them being ushered into various shops, then thousands of questions, (with the occassionally "you all right, Mister Potter? Sorry about him, sorry, sorry") and she found women taking her hand, stroking it and saying, "Now which of them will be lucky enough to marry ye? So glad you're up-"

"All so worried, we were, Miss Granger!"

"But there aren't better hands than the Weasleys!"

"Here, here!" And then some sort of drink called butterbeer was passed around as they were all pushed into a pub-type atmosphere, only to be bombarded with more questions and this time, gifts,

"Here, Mr.Weasley! Try on this robe, it accents your hair so wonderfully!"

"Ah, Ah Madam! Mr.Weasley would like to try out a new broom, I'd expect! Wonderful flyer!" With this, Ron look extremely pleased and smiled, like a real hero, at the crowd, and politely refused some things and graciously accepted others.

"Oh, Mr. Potter! Try my new ice cream! I named it after you-"

"Try this, try this! It'll have your belly full in one bite!" And glorious treats were beginning to stock up on each of the tables, hundreds of sweets and thousands of packaged food. Sometime, during the commotion, Harry leaned over and whispered in her ear,

"We can't go anywhere without this happening. No need for jobs when you save the world, you know." He laughed, and then some pretty female witches who were trying to get his attention glared at Hermione and said,

"You could do so much better, Harry. You know, I'm free this weekend."

Suddenly Harry looked serious, turned to her and said, "No I don't think so. Excuse me, excuse me, everyone. May I have your attention?"

With that, everyone that hovered, floated, was crammed, stumbling and offering shut up. Hermione looked impressed. Harry continued, in a loud voice that was both strong and clear, "Ah, well, yes, uhm, thank you all for your lovely gifts and your attention. But really, we'd like some alone time, here at the Leaky Cauldron."

And, without any complaints, but many farewells, they all left. It really was like magic. Harry looked apologetic and laughed, "Can't go anywhere."

-----------------

"I can't go anywhere without hearing about Wonder Boy and his stupid sidekicks," Malfoy huffed, and in the middle of huffing and kicking things he realised something very important. She was okay. He didn't fail. She didn't die and it was thanks to him. And with this information, Draco Malfoy felt very smug with himself. She was up and walking about and perfectly okay!

Well, except for the fact she didn't remember him. Which, in his opinion, wasn't necessarily bad. This way, at least she couldn't properly hate him, because in all regards, she didn't even know what he did to her. Maybe this was his second chance! Maybe this was the redemption he so sought out, and Merlin had answered his prayers.

For once, Malfoy felt joyful. Felt hopeful. But then, he deflated. 'Wait a tic,' he thought, 'no doubt Weasley and Potter will fill her in every horrible thing I've done.'

And with this thought, he plopped down in an overstuffed leather chair and sighed. He knew it was too good to be true, Granger forgetting everything and all that. There was no way he'd get out of his guilt so easily. It just wouldn't be fair, and Draco Malfoy knew nothing of fairness and knew everything of fairness. Growing up as an only child had spoiled him so much, he felt like the world owed him something. But as he grew older, he realised such notions were childish and that he would have to, shudder at the thought, work to earn respect and other novelties.

But thanks to his father, and reputation as a 'bad guy', Malfoy knew his family name would forever be tarnished, never once holding the influence it once had in the wizarding community, and that respect would never be his. He growled. Yes, Draco Malfoy was in a black, foul mood. And the deeper his thoughts went, the fouler he felt.

So he thought of her. He thought of her bright, curious eyes, and her small mouth opening in suprise. The way her eyebrow twitched in frustration of not recognizing him, which pleased him immensly. At least she wanted to remember him, not that he blamed her. He was devishly handsome, but the thought of a Mudb-

Wait, he wouldn't start that again, even though he had called her that childish name just not to long ago. That was before, this is now. He would have to find another reason to hate her. For being so good? That's silly. Just for being friends with Potter? Yes, that was a good reason, he decided. And to boot, she was all over Weasley. Yes, he would hate her for the company she kept. And for being insufferably brilliant, and pretty. She wasn't meant to be pretty, someone that smart is supposed to have something wrong with them so they work in a library. But, Draco Malfoy mused, she was to pretty to be locked up behind all of those books.

And she wasn't like Pansy Parkinson pretty, she was a plain beauty. Like all the fair and noble and virtuous princesses in those Muggle fairy tales. The ones who are so pure and good they don't need make up, that their spirit shone through their bright eyes. Yes, Draco Malfoy decided, that was Hermione Granger. Insufferable, absolutely. Brilliant, well no-duh. But plain and wonderful were the two things Draco really noticed that he was sure no one else did.

With feeling somewhat accomplished, (with what, he didn't know), Draco walked out of the room and off to do some work to keep his mind occupied. After all, the Malfoy fortune wasn't going to be there forever, and not working would drive the boy to tears.

---------------

Harry Potter was in tears. Fresh, bright, blue tears that rolled over his smooth, round cheeks. He sat in a dark room, late Saturday evening while Ron was probably eating, and looked down at the garden below him, his forhead pressed against the cool glass. Dark, Spring days reminded him of Ginny. They reminded him of her walk, her smile, of their first kiss, of her family, her laugh, and everything else that was Ginerva Weasley. He missed her, and deep down he was happy that at least she did not suffer, and she died like a true hero.

But, he couldn't help but to feel that he should of died instead of her. Never again will her bright blue eyes hold a mischevious spark that told him that she was up to something both brilliant and cunning. And with each thought of how wonderful she was, more tears replaced the ones that fell.

The time he got to spend with her, he decided, had no doubt been the best part of his life. She was, he had also decided, his true love. The one. The girl he was destined to marry, but she slipped out of his grasp. Out of his grasp, and into the earth. And every Sunday, which would be tomorrow, he'd visit her grave beneath the Cherry Blossom tree, her favorite.

"I like the way the petals fall," she sighed dreamily, one evening that they were together; her snuggled against his chest and his arms wrapped around her. "They're so pink, and light, like Spring's snow."

He laughed, silently, at the thought, "Spring's snow, huh?"

He shook his head, took a deep breath, and tried to steady the flow of tears. She had always been a pillar of support, a forced optimism that kept him going, kept him trying. Ginny and Hermione were the two females in the whole entire world that he felt would always be there, urging him on, supporting him, giving him advice. Loving him. He thought of the day before the final battle, his two girls sitting, whispering in hushed voices; him watching them silently and them unknowingly.

----------------------

Their heads were together, bent and holding each others hands. He remembered watching them hug, embrace like sisters, and break away. And then he heard Ginny whisper to Hermione, "If I die tommorow, I want you to promise me something."

"You're not going to die, Ginny." Hermione rasped, scolding her slightly, and gripping her hand tighter. Harry felt a lump form in his throat, his pulse start to quicken. Ginny gave her a weak smile and continued, bright tears shining in her eyes,

"I want you to promise me you'll take care of Harry." Hermione, now with tears in her eyes, promised this to Ginny. And they hugged each other tighter. "You're my best friend, Hermione. Mi amiga, my chum, you know how it is. I owe everything to you. You helped me get Harry, you gave me advice, you even helped me pass Potions. You've been the greatest gift to me, well, of course next to Harry-"

"Oh, shut up Ginerva." Hermione teased, laughing and crying. They broke apart again, wiping tears onto their sleeves. "Ginny, I want you to promise me something too."

"What is it?" Ginny asked, confused. Harry, outside the door that was slighlty ajar, quirked his eyebrow, tears starting to formulate in his eyes.

"If I die tomorrow, I want you to make sure I'm buried beside my parents." She closed her eyes, and looked down. "In the old cemetary, on the hill. Underneath the largest tree."

"Of course, of course," And they hugged each other. Harry hadn't even imagined the thought of either of them dying. All of the sudden, everything seemed so much more real. Or almost, surreal. He wanted to hold Ginny, stroke her hair, and murmer into her ear that he wouldn't let her die. He wanted to hug Hermione and scold her for being so stupid- how could the brightest witch of their time die? She knew more curses and charms, surely, she wouldn't die. They couldn't die.

Without wanting to draw attention, Harry tried to hurry down the halls of Grimmauld Place and into his and Ron's room, tears still in his eyes. When he got there, he threw himself onto the bed and thought, 'I won't let them die, I won't let them die. They can't, they won't.'

'I can't be without them.'

'It wouldn't be fair.'

'They don't deserve to die.'

'Why.. No, I won't let them go.'

'I can't lose her.'

-------------------

Harry laughed and sighed, "But she did die. She did, and it was my fault. If only.."

"Harry?" He felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him and breaking his train of thoughts. Embarrased, he took off his glasses and quickly wiped any tears away from his face and coughed. He felt the hand become an arm, two arms, and wrapped around him, in an understanding embrace. "It's okay, Harry."

"It's not okay." He sighed, angrily, and let Hermione slowly stroke his back, in a soothing, rythmic pattern. He leaned against her, and closed his eyes. "I remember that day, pleading you two to stay behind. But neither of you would have it- always have been a bit stubborn. Both of you."

"Mmm," Hermione listened, not really sure of what happened that day, "Go on."

"Everything was going so well, we were winning," Harry continued, his hands clenched and eyes closed, "The day was dark, the clouds had completely blocked out the sun. Hogwarts had never looked so gloomy. And then, the fog rolled in. Fog and mist so thick you couldn't see a thing in front of you, but refracted light of curses and charms, hexes and such. You were right behind me, both you and Ron. Right there. And then you weren't. And then I saw her. I saw Ginny.

She looked awkward, the way her bones were cracked and the blood coming out of her mouth," His voice cracked a little hear, his voice hitching, "And then I heard his laugh. You know what he said to me?"

She shook her head no, and he explained, "He told me that this was my fault. That Ginny died because of me. And I remember this terrible anger fill me. This anger and hurt, and years of frustration that had built up suddenly released. And I felt Ginny leave me, I felt her protecting me. I felt it all when I killed Voldemort."

Hermione tensed a little, the way his voice was both loud and quiet, full of regret and malice, and relief and sadness. And her heart went out to him. She found herself holding Harry. At some point he had turned around, one hand holding her face, thumbing her cheek, and the other wrapped around her waist. Her arm around his neck, and her other hand resting on his chest. She felt his heart beating, and rather quickly.

"When we couldn't find you," He choked out, new tears rolling out of his green eyes, looking at her, "when we couldn't find you, I thought I lost you both. I didn't understand how I could lose two people I loved in such a short amount of time. And when you came to us, I felt like I was going to watch myself lose you..

Please remember me, Hermione. Please," he pleaded, his voice soft and broken. And then he pulled her closer and held her against him, crying. "I don't want to lose you too."

"You won't. I'm here," She soothed, "Nothing bad is going to happen ever again. I won't leave you ever, Harry."

And they held each other, in the dark, with the only sound was his soft sobs and her soothing words, with the wind pounding against the window and pink petals sticking against the glass.

----------------

Listening to the wind and the leaves on the tall trees rustle, Ronald Weasley sat out on the back porch, eating a pumpkin pastry and just enjoying the dark, gloomy weather. Ron had always liked stormy weather, when the wind softly blew his hair about. He watched the talls trees sway back and forth as he munched on one of his favorite treats.

He glanced over his shoulder and into the kitchen, where his mother was humming softly and making a late dinner. ("Ronald, your father will be late, you know his work, so we won't have supper until 9 o'clock. Here, eat this until then. And get your hands away from the cookies!") He saw his brothers in the living room, lounging, and probably waiting for dinner to be served. He frowned- where was Hermione and Harry?

Slowly, he rose from his chair and clambered into the Burrow, sitting himself in a chair in the living room, wondering when 9 o'clock was going to finally arrive. He watched Fred and George get into a heated debate about cheating, and found that he wasn't interested in the least.

Where was Hermione? Hermione. She was up. Finally. After all of this time. Thank Merlin. He thought about how he watched her for days on end, the rise and fall of her chest in a painfully slow pace. He remembered thinking any day that she would wake up, or unless there was part of the curse he didn't know about, she would die. He didn't want her to die, but Ron was frustrated very easily and just wished something would happen.

Something so he could see her brown eyes on fire, yelling at him in an arguement that would end in her tears. He missed that. And he missed her nagging, and her homework habits, and her reading, and her stupid house elf campaign. He just missed her. And that worried Ron.

To him, Hermione was unlike any girl he had ever met. She wasn't girly and annoying like Lavender, or evil and cunning like Ginny. Or even wholesome and motherly like, well his mother. She was bookwormish and perfectly insufferable. And yet, he loved her. He loved her good side and he loved her bad side. He loved when she laughed and he loved when she cried.

He loved her when she was yelling at him, and they would have a mini-cold war going on, and he loved her when she would playfully punch him in the arm. He just loved everything about Hermione. And yet, he feared that. How could Hermione and him ever fall in love? That was silly; the thought of them kissing gave Ron goosebumps alone. What if she didn't like it? He didn't particularly want to kiss Hermione, but what if something awful happened and that they did fall in love? That would be dreadful, in Ron's opinion. Because no matter how much he loved her, he would never want to be in love with her. He would never want to screw up not having her in his life, because having her asleep for two years nearly killed him.

And if he were to screw up his friendship, it'd be like she was sleeping always, right?

And that was the last thing Ron wanted. He wanted her to be awake; awake and alive and fresh and there.

"RONALD WEASLEY! I swear, the boy is in a different dimension sometimes," he heard his mother say. He shook his head, and turned to her,

"What'd you say mum?" He asked. She rolled her eyes and wiped some flour off her forhead.

"Your father's home. Dinner's ready. We're all waiting for you in the kitchen-" She started back into the small kitchen, "Hurry up, will you?"

"On my way."

_I dunno if I like this chapter. But I kinda do. Thank you for your lovely pm BS-not-Bullshit._


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